


kissing scars

by Rimetin



Series: Fallen Hero: odds and ends [4]
Category: Fallen Hero Series - Malin Rydén, Fallen Hero: Rebirth (Video Game)
Genre: Groping, Kissing, Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-19
Updated: 2019-02-19
Packaged: 2019-10-31 20:24:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,305
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17856383
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rimetin/pseuds/Rimetin
Summary: Your skin, on his.It’s all too much and yet not enough.Steel is strong and soft and you are very lucky. Originally postedon tumblr.





	kissing scars

**Author's Note:**

> Anon asked for steelstep (or chargestep but guess which one i went for) from a prompt list - "moving around while kissing, stumbling over things, pushing each other back against the wall/onto the bed".
> 
> SPOILERS but it's not really nsfw, mostly kissing and touching. All my love to Reikor for looking this over ♥

You kiss him, and the intensity of it takes both of you by surprise. His hands are on you, warm and steady, and at first he thinks he should push you away so you kiss him harder, more demanding, teeth on his lips. He gasps and pulls you closer instead, pressing your body against his. You let him. He’s warm and he’s here and you _want this_. 

You both do.

The realization hits you like a brick and you laugh, high on his thoughts of you. How the fabric of your shirt feels under his hands, how you taste just a bit of coffee, how he knows you’re in his mind and no one’s more surprised than he is that he doesn’t mind.

You are shorter than him, your neck aching from the craning you have to do, and his back from hunching down in return. He thinks and you oblige, bracing yourself on his shoulders as you jump up to wrap your legs around his waist while he catches you, hands on your thighs, your kiss never breaking. And then you’re taller than him, tilting your chin down while his tilts up and this time it’s him laughing, the sound and the sensation sending sparks down your spine.

He stumbles slightly, not because of your weight, but because he can’t see where he’s going. But you’re not afraid of falling: he knows what he’s doing. Your back hits a wall - no, a door, his bedroom door - and he presses you against it, letting you support your weight on him. You do and his hands are free, free to brush at your hair, your ear, your neck, to push your shirt up and slip under it. His hand is warm on your side and you shiver, aware that he can feel everything. Amazed that he doesn’t seem to care one way or the other.

You unwrap one of your arms from his neck and reach beside you, fumbling for the doorknob. You find it and half gasp, half project a warning, but he gets it. You open the door and he lets you down, balancing you so you don’t fall flat when the support behind you disappears.

You pull him along with you as you back into the room, your hands under his shirt and his grasping yours and pulling it off. You pull away from the kiss just enough to let him and he tosses it over carelessly before removing his own. For a second or two you just stare at each other, chests heaving: his attention glued to your face, every change in your expression, and yours on his body - mesmerized by muscles and the scars all over them. Some, you put there. You reach out to touch them, feeling a pang of guilt and shame. You know it shows clearly on your face, too.

He takes your outstretched hand and pulls you close to him, to trace your scars in turn. Remembering some and wondering about the others. Ignoring what he knows you don’t want attention drawn to.

You close your eyes and take a shaky breath, pressing soft kisses on his neck You feel him, truly _feel_ him, his mind against yours. Two streams of watercolor meeting and melding.

Then he’s kissing you again and you pull him along again, staggering to a halt when your legs hit the edge of his bed. You turn and push him down on it, back first, and it’s his turn to pull you. You land on top of him and place your hand on either side of his head, bracing yourself before you crash and break his nose on your forehead. He wraps his arms around you and if you didn’t know his hands were artificial, you wouldn’t notice the difference. One tangles in your hair, the other slides down your back right over your spine: over all your scars, your tattoos. All just skin to him right now, skin to touch, skin to feel. 

_Your_ skin, on _his_.

It’s all too much and yet not enough.

“You don’t have to do this,” he mumbles against your lips.

You freeze and pull back. “What?”

He loosens his grip on you to give you room to breathe and meets your gaze. “If you don’t want to.”

“Who said I don’t?” You hate yourself for asking: you don’t actually need him to answer. You know exactly what he’s talking about, even without the window into his head. The window that is wide open to you now and his thoughts are the wind blowing through and messing up the carefully archived and sorted office that is your mind.

You shrink and start to pull away, suddenly ashamed. Your eyes burn and you turn away so he won’t see. 

He sits up as you get off him, reaching out to wrap his arms around you and pull you back before you can escape. “Hey.” 

He holds you steadily, firmly, but not so tight you couldn’t get out if you truly wanted to. You slump against his chest with a breathy sob. He’s warm. So warm. His heartbeat is slow and steady and your sobs almost turn into laughter because _how,_ after what you did, after such an intense workout? You’re still shaking and breathless, and you know only part of it is due to the emotional collapse.

He kisses the top of your head and rubs soothing circles on your back, a sharp contrast to the angular geometric lines you both know are there. He’s trying to make you both forget, to prove he doesn’t care, but his thoughts betray him. He’s deliberately countering the angles with circles, going against their direction by drawing lines parallel to the ones on your skin. As if trying to erase them.

You don’t know how much time passes before you pull back. He lets you, hand sliding from your hair to your cheek. You lean into the touch and close your eyes, overcome again by how he sees you. The color of your skin brighter in his eyes than the orange of your tattoos, the light outlining your cheekbones and the curve of your nose, your lips reddened and swollen from the kissing. 

From _his_ lips on _yours_.

The thought is warm and you feel the corners of your mouth curl up. You know he thinks it’s cute before it registers even in his mind and you tilt your head as he leans in, lips meeting yours. Soft, not at all like the kisses before. 

You sigh, content, and he pulls back. “Alright?“ He asks, brushing his thumb across your cheek. You swallow and open your eyes, but don’t meet his. 

“I’m not… like you.” The words are clumsy and awkward in your mouth and you’re not entirely sure what you mean by them, but he understands.

“I know.” He’s so calm. You’re thankful for the anchor and at the same time frustrated - your own emotions are doing cartwheels on a tightrope with no safety net, and he’s not even fazed. Just warm and accepting and– “I also don’t care.”

You breathe in a laugh, resulting in a weird choking noise. “Who are you and what have you done with the real Wei Chen?”

His mind spikes with joy, so intensely it almost hurts, that you almost recoil physically. But outwardly he only shrugs. “Let’s just say I’ve had a long time to think about this.”

You choke back another sob  and wrap your arms around him, pulling him in for a kiss. It’s hard and sloppy and so _needy_ and you feel pathetic, but he holds you close even when you break down and for the first time since you crashed through that window so long ago, you–

You feel like it’s not such a bad thing to be broken. 


End file.
